Archive | January, 2011

What spiders teach blokes…

7 Jan

 

 

There is a spider smaller than a sand grain crawling up my forearm. It’s green and  hustles across hairs like they are fallen logs. It is seemingly unconcerned with its precarious situation.                                                                                                                                                                                               space

I’m on the 9.29pm Flinders St to Glen Waverly. In green spider world, I am travelling to the moon.

space
If it were larger, this spider, I would be spastic with terror and in no mood to engage whimsy. Just goes to show that spiders know what all men secretly fear.

space
Size does count.

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***

It is spider season at my place. The heat and humidity gets them dancing and out back, the banksia has gone mental, curling from the fence to across the drive with unsettling vigour, offering excellent beams and cover from which spiders to slide their rallying first strands.
Three of them have set up three perfectly intimidating webs that form an impassable, head height glove. It’s Vietnam out there.

s

Indifferent to it all, like the little green guy who Mach10’d it to the inner east, they hover in the centre of their webs; plump, spring-loaded leg-bots. As much as I’d like to tickle a flint of paper into one of their webs, I just can’t face the teeth breaking shudders of that first sudden scuttle.

s

Nor do I have the bottle to pull their webs down in the day. Seems almost sacrilegious. And plus, I know they’re still there, in the leaves, watching.

s

Of course, this anthropomorphism is integral to the absurd, but entirely furious fear I have of them, but aesthetics rule the world.  I know they don’t care about me, I do. They are implacably hostile and I’m not an insect. But still, when they get motoring, it’s like, I dunno, the opposite of seeing breasts.

s

And a breastless world is terrifying.

 

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